Meaning
by Shaded
Summary: What is all the meaningless action people call life? Is it finding something to amuse us, something to occupy us, something to make us feel? In a world where a people have lost their own sense of life can one thing, one person bring it back to recall?
1. Chapter 1

As six cars, single file, screeched to a smoking stop a small stocky figure from across the street watched as the six drivers emerged from their multi-coloured vehicles. Watched as they pounded up the rickety steps of a rather worn looking house along the street. Watched as the screen door slammed shut behind them and listened as the pounding, penetrating beat of metallic music penetrated walls.

It was the usual gang after the street races, the same lot of people that partied at the Toretto's place. Loose girls, drunk guys, young blood seeking for entertainment in devoid lives. In lives that had lost so little meaning that they sought for anything to make them feel. Drugs, sex, murder, whatever made them come alive.

Curious eyes watched this all with growing understanding, and no little contempt. But it was more the curiousty that pulled that small figure out from the shadows, it was interest that compelled, intrigue that demanded.

A murmur of surprise started up from those nearby (and still coherent) as the screen door creaked open and slammed shut. Not so much at the noises the door made, but by the shape that entered through it.

A short form, swathed in a dark array of colours ranging from deep chocolate to charcoal black had walked sedately into the entryway of the Toretto house.

It was a girl with white translucent skin that contrasted sharply with the dark tans of the others around her. The initial shock however was the eyes, large half-moon shaped eyes almost oriental looking, set in a pale round face angled sharply by high cheekbones and prominent points of chin, nose, and ears. Dark hair, in natural waves of auburn and brown, poured over shoulders to end nearly waist length. The girl was small, just nearly reaching the height of five feet. Her arms and legs however were portioned in an active body, a physical one made for motion. The overall appearance was a conflicting one, at first sight the girl appeared to be young. Quite young, in the later half of her teens. But on a moments consideration the age estimate soared higher, until it became almost impossible to guess age without becoming entirely disoriented.

A small smile, as if a remnant of some past amusement, curved full lips upwards and a round angled face tilted sideways in an almost questioning pose. The heavy beats of metal stopped abruptly as a pierced and tattooed man in the back looked up from the electric guitar he'd been fondling.

A large man, in his mid-twenties with a shaved head and stoic expression stepped forward out of the tangle of bodies, some still unconsciously gyrating to non-apparent music. A raven-headed girl with a dark expression moved out beside him, arms crossed over chest.

The stranger was motionless as the people slowly formed a circle around her. The awkward silence that had set in so suddenly and without any predictability was broken by a rough snort from someone to the right of the girl.

"Who the hell is this?"


	2. Chapter 2

As six cars, single file, screeched to a smoking stop a small stocky figure from across the street watched as the six drivers emerged from their multi-coloured vehicles. Watched as they pounded up the rickety steps of a rather worn looking house along the street. Watched as the screen door slammed shut behind them and listened as the pounding, penetrating beat of metallic music penetrated walls.

It was the usual gang after the street races, the same lot of people that partied at the Toretto's place. Loose girls, drunk guys, young blood seeking for entertainment in devoid lives. In lives that had lost so little meaning that they sought for anything to make them feel. Drugs, sex, murder, whatever made them come alive.

Curious eyes watched this all with growing understanding, and no little contempt. But it was more the curiousty that pulled that small figure out from the shadows, it was interest that compelled, intrigue that demanded.

A murmur of surprise started up from those nearby (and still coherent) as the screen door creaked open and slammed shut. Not so much at the noises the door made, but by the shape that entered through it.

A short form, swathed in a dark array of colours ranging from deep chocolate to charcoal black had walked sedately into the entryway of the Toretto house.

It was a girl with white translucent skin that contrasted sharply with the dark tans of the others around her. The initial shock however was the eyes, large half-moon shaped eyes almost oriental looking, set in a pale round face angled sharply by high cheekbones and prominent points of chin, nose, and ears. Dark hair, in natural waves of auburn and brown, poured over shoulders to end nearly waist length. The girl was small, just nearly reaching the height of five feet. Her arms and legs however were portioned in an active body, a physical one made for motion. The overall appearance was a conflicting one, at first sight the girl appeared to be young. Quite young, in the later half of her teens. But on a moments consideration the age estimate soared higher, until it became almost impossible to guess age without becoming entirely disoriented.

A small smile, as if a remnant of some past amusement, curved full lips upwards and a round angled face tilted sideways in an almost questioning pose. The heavy beats of metal stopped abruptly as a pierced and tattooed man in the back looked up from the electric guitar he'd been fondling.

A large man, in his mid-twenties with a shaved head and stoic expression stepped forward out of the tangle of bodies, some still unconsciously gyrating to non-apparent music. A raven-headed girl with a dark expression moved out beside him, arms crossed over chest.

The stranger was motionless as the people slowly formed a circle around her. The awkward silence that had set in so suddenly and without any predictability was broken by a rough snort from someone to the right of the girl.

"Who the hell is this?"

There was another silence before the man with the shaved head took a step forward, inches from the girl's face, if a considerable distance higher. All in all his posture was an intimidating one and if the girl had been the type to notice she would have felt inclined to take several steps back, then make dash for it. As it was she wasn't the type to notice and merely blinked twice as the man spoke.

"This party's invite only, kid. Besides, I'd say your over curfew and I doubt you've your homework."

Laughter broke out from all sides at the jab towards the presumed age of the stranger in front of them. It faded off slowly as the girl swung her head, still cocked slightly to one side. Something about the expression, that small smile, made them suddenly doubt their own superiority. Made them doubt anything they'd just confirmed as fact minutes before. The girl's age fluctuated before their very eyes, and it was suddenly impossible to imagine her a teenager, but at the same time it was nearly as difficult to invision her as an adult. Minds still clouded by alcohol and lack of sleep were even more confused when the girl spoke, for the first time.

"Invite only?" She repeated quietly. The silence after her words was predominant and in almost everyone's mind their was a feeling of surprise and almost relief. The girl's voice was entirely unremarkable, a low average pitched voice. The only thing making it noticable being the drawn out traces of an accent that would have been impossible to try an place. By the appearance and the overall impression the girl carried with her they'd been expecting something... different. What they got was oddly reassuring to the few coherent enough to begin to wonder. Though they themselves were still hazy as to what exactly they were suspicious about.

"Invite only... Odd. This group doesn't appear to be so specially picked. In fact, I'd say the standards were rather loose." Shaking her head and suddenly flashing a grin which released the pressure and the strain that had been building up til now, the girl took a step backwards.

"But I wouldn't dream of intruding, in fact, I was just leaving." Still smiling, in a way that made her seem to be laughing inwardly, she nodded her body swaying slightly in what could have been called the beginnings of a bow.

Dominic Toretto opened his mouth but before he could get a word out the screen door slammed once again in the space of five minutes and the quirky little figure was gone. Letty, arms crossed beside him glared darkly at the direction in which their visitor had left. "Freaky bitch." She stated firmly, still frowning.

It took all of several moments before the drug-induced minds of many at the party entirely dismissed the event, erasing it from what was left of their minds. The wailing music of an electric guitar cut through the room and the party continued, this time uninterrupted.

Only a few remembered the incident, and then only because of it's strangeness.


	3. Chapter 3

It was 11:30 PM and it was race-night. The team was decked out in their finest from purposefully ragged jeans, to see through tops. A little bling, a little bravado and they were set.

The crowd drew back as six cars zigzagged into the crammed street, one after another they pulled up. One after another emerging from their respective vehicles. As always the large man with the shaved head lead the pack, striding out purposefully to the front. Men drew back and women drew closer. This was a street race in all it's glitter, glamour and glory.

Daemon hated it.

He'd been coming to these events since he could pass for an adult and it wasn't out of choice. His older brother fancied himself part of the crowd and was always offering racing tips to whoever would listen. The real reason he was there was to drag his brother's, or rather, half-brother's ass home whenever he got too stoned to drive himself. This happened all too often and although younger by ten years Daemon was the one stuck with it. All too often he felt it was more trouble than it was worth, and immediately felt gulity afterwards.

His half-brother, Nick Farley, was his mother's first son by a man she never spoke of. Nick Farley was one of the world's most ambitious people, to talk to, but somehow all that drive was pushed away after one drink and then obliterated by another.

The two brothers were nothing alike, the only thing they shared being a surname. Farley, which they inherited from their mother. Daemon's own father was a repetition of his brother's. One night thing and the woman was stuck with the results.

The two brothers had been born in Dublin and had only moved to the states when Daemon was fourteen, just after their mother's death. That was five years ago. Nick had always had a penchant for machines and motors and the racing spirit of their new home infected him with roaring enthusiasm. He started up a parts business, dealing engines and other various equipment to local racers. Soon, very soon the business got dirty and special clients were handled illegal goods.

The work was stressful and Daemon only stepped in when he had too. For the most part he ran after his brother, trying to keep him out of whatever trouble he could. That part made everything else in life seem easy. Time after time Daemon found himself thinking of just leaving, dropping everything and running but blood was blood and family was family and as much as he hated his brother he also loved him. So it was, year after year Daemon was dragged into his brother's world. The world of loud music, fast cars and loose women. Just a flashy cover for a life empty of meaning. Daemon saw through it like clear glass, but his brother fell for the bait every-time. Wasting his money, his effort, and his life on an illusion dancing tauntingly before him.

Daemon hated it.

There were a good many things he hated, but first and foremost was the one thing he feared. Racing.

He watched darkly from amongst the press of people, shouting and yelling so loud one couldn't even hear themselves think. He watched as the Toretto team pulled in and disembarked. With a grimace he watched as the racer's pooled cash, his brother holding the money.

As the cars took off he flinched and looked away quickly, the speed terrifying him in a way he was disgusted to admit. The feeling of dread dragged him under as he waited until the screams of fans towards the finish line signaled the end of it. The other people around him had already rushed to their cars, wanting to be the first to get down and get close to the victor.

As the crowd thinned Daemon's eye caught sight a small figure over to one side of the street. Partly shadowed by the looming building behind her he couldn't catch sight of a face, only dark hair. Normally he wouldn't have looked twice at some girl at the street races. They were all the same. Flashy, flaunting, trying to show the goods. But this one was by herself, away from the others, and... the most noticeable aspect. She wasn't showing as much skin as she possibly could, in fact, she was swathed in dark clothing.

Curiosity suddenly aroused Daemon moved forward, almost unconsciously. At his motion the head of the small dark form snapped upwards and towards him. Daemon caught a brief glimpse of an angled pale face and large half-moon eyes, but quickly, almost suspiciously so the girl moved running up an alley to her right and disappearing. Watching for as long as he could, Daemon shrugged to himself. He was still curious but as the yells of race fans in front of him swept his senses he gradually forgot the strange encounter, so slight yet so impacting.

Sighing he headed out to find his brother. It would be a long night.

**Believer : Hopefully this is abit longer. Sorry for the last chapter's shortness. I was stuck there but I think I'm back on a roll. Thanks for the input, keep it up!**


	4. Chapter 4

Maybe it was the moonlight, maybe it was musky damp feeling in the air, but bloody hell... Who am I kidding! It was just me being me. I've lived a long time on this earth, here there every where, I've spent years wandering, fighting, but mostly just living. I've never been a very driven person and throughout my time I've mostly just loafed about, I never stay too long in one place. I don't like to get settled, it's bad for business... at least, my business. My business means staying under the radar.

It's really almost a pity, having to stay so inconspicuous. Sometimes my innate sense of drama gets the better of me. That's when things get dangerous. Dangerous for me, dangerous for you, dangerous for any one person within the immediate area. So I generally keep a pretty tight rein on my wild side... Ha! Wild side.

And before you start asking questions. No, I'm not a vampire, I'm not a ghost, I'm not a werewolf, to cut things down abit just let it suffice to say I'm nothing undead. In fact, to my knowledge I've never died at all. I'm nothing so extraordinary as those wonderful mystical beings I just mentioned. I'm actually quite mundane, when you look at things the right way. I'm not the adventurer type, you know those hot-headed idiots that run about looking for chances at upping their personal glory level. I'm not even one of those serene graceful beings who float about the earth, feet never quite touching the ground, who make everyone else feel inferior. I'm caustic, cynical, curious, languid, calm, and in a perpetual state of amusement. That, my friends, that right there demolishes any cliche you were about to place my in. Those words ensure me a free, open and uncluttered space in your minds. I'm quite relieved to know I won't be competing with any super-heroes, heroines, monsters, and/or undead.

Now, to save time by not telling you all the things I'm NOT, I'm going to take a shortcut and just break the suspense by telling you what I AM. I know, it's high-time. I've just spent those last two chapters piddling away at insignificant rot, just tantalizing you for a taste of the real thing. Well folks, sorry to burst your bubble but what's coming isn't anything so great and grand as you might have gotten an impression of. In fact, it's so not great and grand that I'm stalling so that I don't have to tell you and then see those disgusted looks on your faces. You know, the ones that quite clearly announce, 'I spent all that time for THIS!'.

So, to unveil myself I must simply state that I am a girl. Wow! Incredible, unbelievable, you don't say? And I know, the boos are deafening at this point. Well, let me mix it up abit by telling you that I am a girl probably not much older or younger than you, mid-teens or so. A girl that has a memory longer than your mother, or for that matter, your grand-mother, or even your great-grandmother, or even your great-great-grandmother. Anyways, you get where this is going. And once again I find myself stalling. Your probably scratching your heads thinking, 'what the hell is this supposed to add up to?' Well, let me divulge... Okay, I admit it. I'm not going to divulge, in fact, I'm not going to reveal any more to you than I already have. And yes, I am ready to dodge the rotten food that'll be thrown my way very shortly.

I did warn you about that wee tinge of drama that comes out in me every once and awhile, well... This is just one of those times where I can't keep the beast chained. It's broken forth like a dam bursting (not that most original metaphor.) So, I must hold true to my aesthetic sense and play this out carefully, spinning the thread here and then a little there, keeping you all in careful check and placing you exactly where I want you. I'm a manipulating bastard I know, but you know you still love it.

Keep careful watch as I divulge my own amusement with a certain group of humans. Humans who have taken what they have for granted, who have squandered much of their promise, and throw themselves into a pit of despair so unwarranted that it makes me laugh. Stupid, stupid fools. It's right before them, they're so blind, but maybe a little manipulation will make them see. I'm dreadfully bored you know, and whenever I get like this I begin meddling. As I said before, it's dangerous but what's life without just a touch of brashness. Let it be said that I have lived for years, not that for years I lived.

Now my voice is becoming monotonous, even to my own ears. Talking to oneself often does that. What inspiration and irony overtook to me write this is now turning tail on commitment and fleeing. Therefore, I will submit myself to the lure of sleep that is even now tugging at my eye-lids. Even I have to sleep, occasionally.

When night-fall comes, then I'll go out, and I'll take you with me.


End file.
